


Beck and Call

by bistourylove



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bistourylove/pseuds/bistourylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very first attempt at some naughty fanfic. I don't have a beta, hope there aren't mistakes.</p>
<p>Moriarty calls on an unnamed companion for a bit of play.</p>
<p>Warning: light D/s, gun play, felching</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beck and Call

It is like drawing a bow too tight, the strain produces beautiful and often violent results. Knowing he watched her made her taut constantly. And then when he summoned her she would react to his beck and call. He never calls actually, it just isn’t his style. But goodness does he have style. He is a posh monster, a tidy gent in a world where everyone gets their hands dirty but him.

  
_Daddy’s not very pleased with you pet-JM_   
_How may I attone?_   
_49 Brook St, Mayfair, W1K 4HR. You’ve 15 mins.-JM_

  
She beared down against the January chill that had fallen over London. Her cheeks some how felt alight, felt like opening an oven and staring at the red hot coil. As she hails a cab, raising her arm, he ribs ache from their last meeting weeks ago. Suddenly the ache creates an instinct to please, to serve him. Minutes later, she has no clue how many and hopes that she isn’t too late, the black car pulls up in front of Calridge’s. The hotel has a reputation of excess and expense as well as discretion. She makes her way to the room, the number is given to her by a random member of the hotel staff as he passes her in the lobby. It works like this with him, all the cogs work under his supervision and no one ever sees who pulls the strings.

  
She tidies her hair quickly and runs her hands over her duster. Before she has the chance to knock the door opens. Standing in front of her is the gorgeous Jim, although she wouldn’t dare address him as such. Crisp straight lines of a gun metal grey suit cling to his slender form. His stubble frames his now smirking mouth and the glint in his eyes tells her she was in for serious play tonight. Her momentary eye contact is abruptly ended by the force of his hand across her face. His knuckles making perfect contact with her zygomatic arch and the rush of lust weakens her knees. She does not falter, but stand patiently in the doorway, eyes attending the floor.  
He takes her hand tenderly, affectionately, almost like a lover and she follows him into the room.  
“Come pet, undress” his lilt is lyrical  
Her hands go quickly to their work practically removin her coat buttons in their wake. Her outter layer shed and is flung into a nearby chair, followed by her scarf.  
“So untidy. Fix it”  
She paces to the chair folding the coat over the chairback and ceremoniously places the scarf atop it.  
“Begin again.”  
She start to unbutton the back of her dress, still anxious to be rid of the garment.  
“Slowly pet, make it good for Daddy.”  
She is blushing now, profusely. Just knowing that he desires her is a heady feeling. She does her best to show herself off to him, rocking languidly between the balls of her feet, making a scene of folding the dress once it is removed. She removes her brassiere and the blush deepens when she realises that her nipples have already peaked with anticipation. Her panties slip slowly down the length of her legs and she begins to toe off her heels.  
“Leave them on pet.” his tone is more commanding than his previous orders, bordering on that American-ish accent he slips into when he’s angry. He paces around her slowly, considering his prey, appraising and belittling her all at once with just his glance. She shudders to feel his hot breath on the nape of her neck, his face centimeters from her jawline, his fine suit brushing up against her skin. She can smell cigarettes and coffee on his breath. And another distinct scent. Male. She wasn’t his first take of the night, it should bother her but it doesn’t. She no longer harbours delusions of grandeur, his brilliance cannot be contained by just one lover, certainly not by her.  
His fingertips trail the length of her spine, stopping at the small of her back. A gentle nudge sends her toward the bed ,without words his command is clearly understood. As she approaches the California king she is jarred by fingernails digging into her ribs, pressing perfectly into existing bruises to lift and toss her onto the mattress.  
“Down we go.” he laughs  
Then he is on top of her. Her face pressed into a pillow and though he is lithe she struggles to breathe. And then her respiration all but stops when his fingers enter her with no finesse. She moans into the down pillow as he effortlessly takes her apart. She pushes back into his ministrations, mewling at his touch.  
“Shut up. This is not for you. This is for me.” he growls into her ear “All for me.”  
She bites her lips, focusing on staying quiet rather than the delicious sensations floating through her body. She can feel his arousal pressed against her, grinding designer fabric into the skin of her thighs. Then suddenly he is gone from her, on his knees between her legs. She hears the zip on his trousers go down and the thrill accelerates her heartbeat, there is another metallic noise she cannot place.  
“Hands and knees” he instructs while simultaneously pulling her up with his hand fisted in her hair. She snaps into position, he strokes her backside sweetly, cupping resilient flesh.  
“Count” his hand rebounds and the contact is strident  
“One.”  
“One what?” his grip tightens in her hair so that it’s attachment is tenuous  
“One Sir.”  
“There’s a girl.” he stikes, again, again,again,again, leaving no interval between blows  
“Six Sir.” her body trembles under the force of his palm.  
They make it into the thirties before her throat dries out, her skin hot and pulsing with beautiful wheals imprinted by his fingers. He strikes her once more, still no fluency passes her lips  
“Alrights” he tenderly rubs her flesh “Daddy’s had enough now.”  
She can hear the unfamiliar click again but cannot be bothered to pay attention. She can feel him positioning behind her and she goes boneless, straining to keep herself upright and presentable for the approaching task. The room narrows to a centre between her thighs. He sinks in quickly and the sensation of fullness overwhelms her. She lulls her head down to bask in the grace of the moment. It is interrupted by a hand pulling her head up and back using her hair as a reign. The with one deft motion her parted lips are occupied by cold unrelenting metal. His pace quickens now, his gun positioned in her mouth. She is overwhelmed by the fear, she knows his penchant for danger. She tenses and it does not go unnoticed.  
“Yes pet, she’s loaded.” his voice much deeper than that Irish wavering should allow for. His body drapes hers as he brutally kicks his hips forward. His keening sound are the best noise in the world. Euphonious and all together unnerving.  
“She likes you” unnatural emphasis on the last word “Play with her” he injects her further into the young woman’s mouth.Her teeth part and she can feel the hollow at the end of the barrel with the tip of her tongue. He stops.  
“I said play. Or she’s likely to get upset pet.” gagging her with the weapon  
Her tongue wraps around the gun. She closes her eyes and gives herself over to the oddly pleasurable sensation of the slowly warming metal. It’s almost like giving head, she circles her tongue with the dexterity usually reserved for Jim’s cock around the shaft of the gun. He notices her new enthusiasm and begins again with now languid rolls of his hips so as to watch her lave his Browning. She can feel the heat welling up in her stomach, the slow friction of him driving her mad, it isn’t enough to push her over the precipice. His fingers run over the welts on her arse, pinching lightly as he presses himself to the hilt.  
She relishes the feeling of his overpriced Westwood against her bare skin. And smirks to herself that she will be all over that suit, her wetness no doubt will stain some part of his trouser fronts. He will be reminded of her at some point. The gun is now warm in her mouth, positively dripping with saliva that she can no longer control. The thrill of her life in his hands, those amoral, criminal hands, it’s what keeps her coming back for more and more and more.  
He picks up his pace, slightly faltering now. The gun slips in the sweat of his palm.  
“Tá tú taibhseach” he pants out staring more at his gun that at the woman beneath him. And with that she feels him shudder against her. It only last a moment, that euphoric space where in his post-orgasmic haze he is soft and sweet, it’s just the hormonal adjustment. But she cherishes this everytime it happens. He leans back on his heels, prick still wet and dripping. The gun is gone from her lips and she is aware now of an emptiness that she hadn’t been a moment ago. He pushes her over unceremoniously and she understands the command to go recumbent.  
His eyes half-lidded, still wild as always, he never puts on airs here there isn’t a need to master his depravity with her, or with any lover he takes He pulls at his tie zig-zagging it down as his other hand is undoing his shirt front quickly and blindly. His jacket and shirt come off in one grand gesture, his trousers are lost as well but his burgundy pants remain. She stares at the sight, such a rare occasion that she is gifted the sight of his skin. She is only marginally aware that her mouth is agape, her eyes wide at the visage before her - pale almost sallow chest and legs, so svelte and smooth, inviting.  
“Like what you see?” He asks rhetorically. She knows too well to answer him. He leans over to retrieve his gun off the mattress “I bet you do.” His smirk glazed with intention.  
She cannot help but allow her gaze to remain transfixed. He licks gently at his pistol, brushes her along the side of his face. “I know you do.” his arm swings out and she is knocked from her elbow propped position to her side by the contact of the L9A1 against her already bruising cheek. The impact burns and rings throughout her head, her breath hitches. He presses her up into the headboard, using the backs of her knees as leverage. He hooks the heels of her stilettos into the cavity above his clavicles, his face dips between her thighs. The gun hangs precariously from the loop below the trigger on just his left forefinger.  
In a quick brash and rough manner his mouth is upon her cunt, his nose pressing into her vulva. He pulls off momentarily just as she begins to squirm.  
“You never taste better than when I’m already inside you.”  
He doesn’t just enjoy it, he revels in it vocally. His favourite taste is always himself on others. He lays claim to what he wants and this is proof it’s his. It has never been for her benefit that he has ever done this. As with everything else he has ever done, it is for his own.  
“Dig in, dare you to break the skin. I’ll pay you back in kind.” he singsongs the words with his eyebrows impossibly high on his forehead, tilting his face side to side as he descends again. She feels his breath on the release of the last word against her hot flesh. His tongue delves in so he can taste his own release deep inside of her, mixed with her own arousal. She presses her heels down into unyielding flesh and though she should be concentrating on inflicting affection upon him she is lost to the animalistic probing of his tongue. He sighs heavily and she whimpers before pushing down hard. Her eyes are only open long enough to see the rivulet of blood trailing off his shoulder on the to crisp white linen below. The sight is just the thing to pull her tide to shore. She cannot breathe, her mind goes blank and she tries to relax into it. Allow it to last as long as possible. Despite herself she is bucking her hips erratically onto his face and his grip around her thighs only tightens. He won’t allow her to stop coming yet. No once it starts he never just lets it play out, it become more divine abuse. What started out as pleasure slowly morphs into tinge of pain as he teases with his teeth and tongue tip at her clit. Her moans come out as sobs, her only protest is to dig her heel deeper into his split shoulder. She knows he just enjoys the fight all the more.  
Finally he relents, what must have been minutes had seemed like hours. He came up from between her thighs, a wide wet smile across his face, shining with sex. She tries to catch her breath but it was still unstable and she found herself not minding. His demeanor seemed unsuitably caring, she wasn’t going to question.  
He stood and begin to redress himself, much less impeccably now as his shirt front was wrinkled and his trousers still drying in spots along the zippers edge. He still held himself as he always did, cocksure and prideful. He was no man’s dogsbody, everyone was his.  
“Dress pet, Daddy is taking you for a drink.”  
Her eyes widened as she was instantly ecstatic to be called to his side in public. As she hastily dressed she noticed him pressing on his clavicle under his suit jacket, blood blotting from the wound which was now starting to close over in a sanguineous blockade. She fixed her hair as best she could and tried to wipe up as much of her mascara from under her eyes as possible. The bruise was blooming nice and high on her cheek, before she made to cover it she asked  
“Shall I wear my badge proudly?”  
“Always.”  
“Am I suitable?”  
“Barely. I don’t mind the damage. I’ve chosen you and I’ll kill the man who slights the fact.”  
It seems oddly like a compliment even if it is more an insult than anything. His disdain for her endears him closer to her heart.  
They leave the building and get into the back seat of a Jaguar XKR-S. As they pass the atrium of an office park the car slows, he lowers his window and barely glancing his Browning makes her mark.  
“I told you she was loaded.”


End file.
